Amelia
by General Kitty Girl
Summary: For this daughter of England, he did mourn. She had no significant role in politics and made no decisions on behalf of her country. She never engaged in an act that changed the course of history or issued a single command of him. Even as her time on earth dwindled to heartbeats she still demanded nothing – she only asked…and still, she asked nothing for herself. **Historical Fic**


**~Amelia~**

Rain drummed steadily against the windows, like gently beckoning fingers asking permission to enter the warmth forever out of reach. The bedchamber was humble in comparison to most dormitories in the castle, both in size and décor. The walls were draped in faded red, gilded with ivy leaves and sacred geometry that had dulled over the years. The furniture was finely crafted, but sparse in a room where not more than a bed and a nurse's chair were needed. This room, once the sanctuary for the most beloved of the daughters of the king, was now her prison…and mortality was her keeper.

Arthur remained just inside the doorway, watching a woman in white clean the face of her bedridden patient. Try as she might, the young maiden under her care had not long for this world. Still, a smile managed to pass between the two women as the caregiver rose, tightening her hold on the small lass's hand before taking her leave.

Mary, eleventh daughter of His Majesty King George III, raised her grief-stricken face to him before silently passing out the door. The woman left to him was the fifteenth and final royal child, though her withered appearance was anything but the radiant image he remembered. Still shy of her twenty-eighth year, the young princess looked gaunt and pale – her form aged twice that of her spirit. Her color was anemic but for her rubicund nose and cheeks, all suffering from the hellish kiss of St. Anthony's fire. Atop the comforter she held a blood-speckled handkerchief, saturated with the mark of consumption.

Their eyes finally met, and in spite of the pain the young woman smiled and gestured her visitor over. As it was likely to be a final request, Arthur complied.

Despite the contents in her hand, the avatar knelt beside her bed and took her frail hand, kissing the thin skin tenderly. "Your Highness."

Her smile brightened just a fraction and her grey eyes lightened. "Though I am scarcely a shadow of '_highness'_, I thank you for honoring the memory," she replied in a rasped whisper.

Arthur lowered his gaze respectfully and rubbed his thumb over her knuckle, absently cleaning away some of the dry blood upon it. "My lady, illness does not strip you of your title, nor does it lessen the reverence you deserve."

Her laugh was quiet and strained, but the attempt was valiant. Soon the silence grew concerning and Arthur looked back to her face and saw the shimmer of wetness filming over her cloudy eyes.

She looked so different, now…

Arthur remembered when Amelia had been born. The pregnancy had been difficult on the entire royal family battling the fallout of having lost the colonies in America, the deaths of the two youngest princes less than a year apart, and the king's worsening mental illness. The princess had indeed been born in the darkest of times, but brought smiles to so many after far too many years without.

From the moment of her birth she became the distinguished favorite of her father's children. As she grew, her gentle demeanor, inherently kind nature and undeniable charisma charmed everyone from her family members to the courts. She blossomed into a fine young lady and true rose of the royal family.

Sadly, that rose had begun to wilt far too early. From a young age she had been sickly, even deemed fragile by many – yet the princess never seemed to acknowledge it. She still laughed, danced and entertained; she still craved to learn and someday have a family of her own. She had dreams and ambitions that stretched well beyond the expectations of one so stricken with affliction – and though she minded her manners as a proper lady must, she was never above proving a man wrong for discounting her as invalid. She had a stronger spirit than her body could contain, but it never stopped her from pushing her limits.

It was painful to see her like this.

"I want to thank you for accepting my request today," she said when she could speak again. "I know you have been in council with my brother…since your return from the war on the Continent."

At that, the young woman turned her head to better look the avatar in the eyes. Arthur did not avert his gaze or deny the statement…he would not insult her intelligence like that. He had only returned from the lands of his Iberian ally in Portugal a few short days prior, after the Prince of Wales sent an urgent request for him. It was not unknown among those in power that the aging king's mental health was declining at an accelerated rate, and many suspected it was the result of his beloved Amelia's, his affectionately named '_Emily_'s, morbid prognosis. The Prince of Wales had been approached about designing contingencies for when his father was no longer fit to rule. A regency measure that would have transferred the powers of Head of State to him had been tried several years earlier, and failed. Now, with the inevitable hanging over them, and knowing the weakened state of the king's mind, the prince sought his kingdom's avatar for guidance in the matter of revisiting regency once again.

Arthur, however, felt he was the worst person to be seeking any kind of direction from.

The hollowness within him, plaguing him since the loss of America, was vast and deep; it had nearly been all consuming and all he could do to function was to focus on the war with Napoleon and his allies. He wanted to forget about the past several years and the world across the sea – the treasure he had lost. He wanted to strike the memories from his heart that caused him such pain and fill the void with enough substance to numb him, since proper healing seemed forever beyond reach. He was trapped once more in the clutches of European power struggles, and forced back into a dance he had grown so tired of, with nowhere to escape to. He was alone once again, and even the solace of having a last remaining ally in Portugal was of no consolation.

Now his king was falling into madness and his cabinet along with him. The seat of power was in contention in the midst of a war, and making matters worse was the unrest across the Atlantic.

The government was growing wary and unpopular, and wanted to secure a right-minded sovereign on the throne before one conflict became two. All too soon Arthur feared the next ship he boarded would be bound for another war on yet another continent…

But now his thoughts were brought back to the present at the sound of the princess struggling to stifle a cough, so that she could speak.

"They tell me our king is well because they do not wish to upset me…but you and my brother have told me the truth with your actions," the young woman said, her expression becoming more intense as she focused raptly on Arthur's face. "Now tell me in words…honest words…what is to become of my father?"

What becomes of any father on the verge of losing his most beloved child?

For a time, Arthur absently continued tracing his thumb across the young lady's bone-thin hand, and watched as the translucent skin ebbed and flowed at his touch. She was so frail…

"The King will be removed from his role of power, and the Prince of Wales will act as Prince Regent in his stead. The king will remain under the care and custody of the state until such time as he no longer has breath…at which point, the Prince of Wales will officially inherit the crown and burdens of his father," he finally responded at length, feeling the young woman's hand clench in his.

Arthur knew the eldest child of the king was neither the finest successor, nor a family member as near and dear to Amelia as her father was. Yet it did not matter how either of them felt about the King's eldest son. Regardless of how ill-fit the philanderous, irresponsible and selfish man was, blood was blood, and his birthright was indisputable.

"I used to think God only put wise men with strong hearts on the thrones of man's governments; your news today proves me terribly wrong."

Arthur would have smiled had he the energy, but settled for a hum as he continued to massage her hand. "Is it your father's legacy you mourn most, your Highness, or England?"

"Both, I fear," she replied, centering herself as she took deep and shuddering breaths to stave off her malady. "I know the people blame my father for many things…I know you blame my father for many things…"

Arthur's eyes remained averted until finally she released her tissue and tightly clasped his hand. He tried as best he could not to show how deeply her words had stirred a long-buried odium, but that alone told the young woman too much.

"All things happen for a reason, my lord. Wars are won and lost…people live and die," she continued, her voice softening as her careworn grip increased. "Leaders suffer their accountability…we both know my father has not shied from that. Neither God nor his people…not even you, have let him shy from that. Can no man find it in his heart to forgive another man for being mortal? Even a king?"

The price of leadership was indeed accountability, and it was always something to suffer. No war went without loss, death, or blame…and all of these things were the responsibilities of the man in command. No armies marched without a king's order, and therefore no countries would be left in mourning if the armies had never marched. There was plenty of blame to be shared for what happened, but the man bearing the burden of the crown was always the man with the king's share.

Though, unlike his people, Arthur blamed himself just as much for what happened…if not more.

"Your Highness, one typically asks for forgiveness for oneself when on a deathbed," Arthur replied evasively, unable to meet her eyes again.

Still, Amelia smiled and gently squeezed his hand. "Earthly forgiveness will be beyond me soon…but it is not beyond those I leave behind," she whispered, and a great sadness swept over her – and Arthur knew it was not for her condition. "Though our relationship is more formal than familiar, I beseech you to please protect him… Please ensure he is well cared for when his mind and power are no longer his own."

The Englishman could not respond for some time. He had not been expecting such a request, even from a princess as kind-hearted as the young Amelia, and thus was not prepared to accept such a burden…

Yes, it was a burden – an incomprehensible one.

Though Amelia was His Majesty's favorite child, he had scarcely been physically present in her life. The majority of their relationship had been forged through consistent letters, as Amelia was rarely in London wherein her father's primary residence was. The youngest princess had not been raised as most of her older siblings had, where the king and queen were deeply involved with the rearing of their heirs. Amelia's main familial contacts had been her siblings, chiefly her sisters, all of whom were overprotected and even delayed or denied marriage due to the king's wish to forever keep them safely within his borders.

Many saw this as unreasonable, as potential alliances and extensions of the royal bloodline had been lost because of an old man's sentiments and paranoia.

That paranoia had only been magnified by his worsening mental illness. The past few decades had all been too much for the once levelheaded ruler. Approaching the king had to be done with more care than ever before; all in an effort not to further upset his illness. The man was prone to disillusions and stark-raving rants when in the throngs of a fit that would last for days, and sleep was as foreign to the man as the lands east of Holy Rome. The king, once renowned for his strong leadership skills and unwavering devotion towards securing his empire's place as the leading world power, was now a man on the cusps of being dethroned for impotency.

Soon the man would become politically irrelevant…and yet this woman wanted so badly to save him. It was hard to imagine that a child's love for such an irregular father could be possible…but then again, Arthur had difficulties believing in any kind of love or loyalty after the events of 1776.

Amelia gave Arthur as much time as he needed to think, but Arthur still could not conclude in her favor. He shook his head and pulled his hand away from hers; he could not bear to touch it any longer. "I fear you are asking mercy for a man you do not know anymore. I fear you are tasking the wrong man with this responsibility, regardless."

At that, there was a shift on the bed and Arthur raised his head to find the young woman attempting to push herself up. The Englishman immediately rose to aid her, believing she needed to sit up to lighten the hardship of breathing, but she surprisingly stayed his hand and finished her laborious task on her own. She was uncomfortable, but it only showed for the briefest of moments before she situated herself in a regal manner. She kept her hands in her lap, head held high and narrowed eyes settled upon Arthur, still kneeling cautiously beside her.

"I am dying, my lord, but I still have a sound mind with which to think and intelligence enough to best decide how to spend the last of my choices on this earth. I have not been sitting idle bemoaning my fate, but planning how to ensure the wellbeing of my family after I am gone," she began in a tone that echoed her stately upbringing and indomitable resolve. "I have chosen my final wills and arbitrators with care, and there is no one I would trust more to fulfill my dearest charge than you."

The young woman briefly paused to press her handkerchief to her lips in preparation for the wet cough that rattled her fragile frame. When the moment had passed she recomposed herself and admirably continued as though nothing had happened.

"My eldest brother is an irresponsible fool, and my second eldest is little better. I cannot hold faith in men with more loyalty to their vices than their family, and will not entrust to them the care of the man I honor most." In spite of Arthur's previous withdrawal the princess extended her hand and took Arthur's again in hers, her fingers tightening around his despite the effort it took. "My father has done all in his power to extend my life. He sends the best physicians to me every morning, has commissioned the pursuit of every treatment proven and otherwise in hopes that it might help, and not a day has gone by without a word or letter from him. I would return his love by imploring a fellow father, who knows what it is to have fought for his child, to understand and treat him with kindness he would have wished for following that loss…"

Arthur froze and his chest tightened. He wanted to pull away from the tormentor bringing back memories of a time he simultaneously longed for and wished to forget, but she would not let go – not any more than the anger or guilt.

His constant want to remain in the colonies during the time he had been raising his son had been met with much surprise and a fair share of suspicion in England. Over the years, as power changed hands time and time again, his lack of presence in London had greatly diminished his power and influence. By the time he had acknowledged how badly the ties between his nation and the colonies had broken down he had been too late to repair them. He had been too late to change the course of war, and his disillusions that Alfred would have never given into the calls for revolution out of sense…or love, had been dashed.

Yes, he had fought to keep his hold on Alfred. He had fought long and hard to bring the colonies back under control, but in the end he had lost everything. His return to London had been met with tightlipped accusations that his sentiments had gotten in the way of victory, and men who had never known his more triumphant exploits had labeled him an ineffectual failure. The king had become known as the king who lost America, and Arthur's name became synonymous in the same breath.

He could take the black mark upon his name. He could suffer their sneers and malicious words; he would even let them get away with their threats to file inquiries into his actions that might have cost the empire valuable resources and territory. But what he couldn't take was the horrible loneliness.

An immeasurable chasm had been carved out of his heart and only emptiness and sorrow inhabited it. It didn't matter how much anger or hurt he felt, nothing could distract him from longing to return to the way things were. Every day he would fear for Alfred, wondering if he was well, protected, and able to move forward as his father could not. Knowing he could never return or even inquire about the lad nearly drove him to madness in his grief, and soon only the war with France – one he had been dreading for so long – could bring him out of depression and self-imposed solitude. He had taken to the battlefields again like a storm and unleashed hell upon Napoleon and his forces. It did not matter that after all these years his empire was the last of the greats standing against France; truth be told, he was more than fine with it.

Let them come. Let them focus on him, as they remained all he could focus on. France, in his mind, had much…much to pay for.

"There is not enough kindness in the world that can help with that kind of pain, your Highness," Arthur replied at length, and slowly slipped his hand again out of the princess's weakening grip. "Even so, I am the last man alive who could spare any."

Though her vitality was fading fast, she managed to smile without any trace of defeat on her face. "An unkind man does not come to an ailing child's bedside and take the time to listen to her dying wishes," she began, replacing her hand atop the comforter in her lap. "You are a father, and you are England…and I refuse to believe that England is without heart. That is why I have faith and trust you."

Silence fell and Arthur watched as her breaths evened and her color began to fade. Without excess exertion to further strain her weary body, she had slipped back into a state between slumber and passing. It was perhaps the kindest transition for her, given how painful he knew the maladies afflicting her could be.

As carefully as he could, Arthur leaned down, taking hold of the young woman's fragile body and rested it back into the comfort of the bed. She never once stirred, not even as he placed her hands over her stomach and pulled the blankets up around her. She looked so small amidst the sea of soft creams and whites; much as she did the first time he had ever laid eyes on her, as nothing but a child cradled in the finest linings to ever adorn a crib.

Humans were so short lived and rarely left lasting impressions on him. Throughout his life he had been subjected to all the cruelty, blood lusts and avarices of humanity that had so greatly jaded him. Rarely did he ever grieve for the passing of a human; it was even rarer for him to grieve for any of his rulers. But today, for Amelia…youngest princess of His Majesty, King George III; for this kind-hearted young woman born the only light at the end of the war that lost America, and the last person on earth, it seemed, who maintained any kind of faith in his humanity…

For this daughter of England, he did mourn. She had no significant role in politics and made no decisions on behalf of her country. She never engaged in an act that changed the course of history or issued a single command of him. Even as her time on earth dwindled to heartbeats she still demanded nothing – she only asked…and still, she asked nothing for herself.

He leaned over her one last time and pressed his lips to her forehead, leaving a chaste and reverent kiss. "Good night, princess. Go in peace to your throne in heaven, as angles were never meant to govern here."

* * *

The following day, the 2nd of November 1810, having never woken from her sleep, the princess died. The sorrow that descended over the House of Hanover was all-consuming. Never before or since had the king ever cried with such abandonment, and never again would he be sane.

The following year the Regency Act gave the power of acting rule to the king's eldest son, the Prince of Wales. The conflicts with France continued for many years and soon unrest began to brew in North America, as a result. It was becoming an ever-increasing reality that soon this war would extend to yet another theater, but the king never noticed…not the wars or anything else.

Secluded in Windsor Castle, the king remained isolated and deeply engulfed in his madness. Time took his mind, sight and vigor; worse still, it turned those around him away. The king continued to age and became less aware of it or anything in reality. He grew old and alone…

Save for one visitor.

Regardless of how much or how little time he had in London, Arthur never failed to visit the old king. Perhaps it was their bond as avatar and sovereign, but the king seemed at his most aware and lucid when Arthur came to call. They would sit in one another's company and Arthur would entertain the old man by reliving whatever decade of glory the king found himself recalling. Arthur's primary job was to listen, as that seemed to bring the king the most happiness…but always before his departure the king would ask the same question.

_How fairs my Emily, in Hanover?_

The very name of Princess Amelia brought nothing but tears to those who heard it, even the Prince Regent who Arthur knew the young woman had had little faith in as a monarch. No one dared to speak of the fated young woman for fear it would only drive the king deeper into madness, not even when he asked about her.

But Arthur…he would kindly smile to the old, blind king and reply that in Hanover it was always spring. The people of Hanover had never seen such beautiful harvests or experienced such peacetime; and never had a more gracious princess walked among them. She was beloved and safe, but felt a terrible homesickness. It was her hope that one day her father might come to visit her and enjoy her hospitality. It was a hope that gave her solace.

It was a hope that gave the old king peace.

**~Fin~**

* * *

_Notes from the Author:_

Truth be told…I missed writing Arthur, and so for my belated Father's Day fic (this fic has actually been complete for some time) I made sure he was the focal Hetalia character. I was inspired by the stories of Princess Amelia while researching the aftermath of the American Revolution in England, and I came across an in depth history of King George III – and subsequently his ill-fated daughter, Amelia (yes, I know that is the popularly accepted name for Fem!America as well). I found her to be a really interesting person and the relationship with her father really struck a cord with me; the parallel to Alfred and Arthur's relationship did not escape my notice either. Though I can't imagine Arthur being on the best of terms with King George III during or after the war in America, I can see Arthur finding…a kind of common ground with him after Amelia passes away.

Though this fic began as a personal project, I wish to dedicate it to my amazing Beta, my Pirate!Spain in crime, and Cap'm of the motley crew – **AcquaToffana**. :') I can never, ever thank her enough for all she does, puts up with, and for staying up for ungodly hours night after night nerding out with me. All of my love, Cap'm~

_On to the notes_~

-Princess Amelia was the 15th offspring of King George III, the king best known to Americans as having been the ruling monarch during the War of Independence. He is also known by the nickname "Mad King George", as he really did fall into severe mental illness due to a suspected genetic disease called porphyria. Many believe that the king's long-standing battle with mental illness came to an end when his favorite child, Amelia (or "Emily" as he called her) died young of a multitude of illnesses (including bacterial infections such, as St. Anthony's fire and consumption/tuberculosis). His physicians and caretakers documented that: "the scenes of distress and crying every day ... were melancholy beyond description". It was also documented that many points during his madness he would ask about his daughter Amelia's condition, and other times he would state that she had gone to live with family in Hanover (located in modern day Germany). It came to the point that the king was no longer able to perform his duties and an Act of Regency was passed that transferred power in all but name to his oldest son, the Prince of Wales (who later became King George IV).

-Amelia had been born after the deaths of King George III's two youngest sons, the signing of the 1783 Treaty of Paris (that officially severed the British Empire's claim to the American colonies), and during a time of great political unrest in British Parliament. She was considered by many to be an absolutely beautiful child and a much needed delight after so many years of deaths and failures. However, Amelia had always been a more delicate child and shown to be sickly throughout much of her life. In spite of this she remained the apple of her father's eye and a favorite among her siblings as well. During the end of her life it was her sister, the Princess Mary, Duchess of Gloucester and Edinburgh, who continued to care for her until she passed.

-The time period this is set in has us 27 years post the signing of the 1783 Treaty of Paris and towards the height of the Kingdom of France's domination during the Napoleonic Wars. At this point of the war Austria had been defeated militarily, and the following year Napoleon Bonaparte would marry into the Austrian royal family to solidify his ties in Austria. Britain's primary engagements during these years were in Iberia joining forces with its ally Portugal, and (believe it or not) trying to drive the invading French out of Spain. The French occupation of Spain was detrimental to the security of both Portugal and Britain, so…needless to say Britain had a pretty good reason to swallow some pretty hateful history and try to help Spain out. In terms of Hetalia…I guess this proves Britain hates France more than he hates having to work with Spain. (Though sentiments between Britain and Spain were hardly cordial regardless. ^^; One example: my Beta and I found an incident where a group of Spanish soldiers abandoned a group of wounded British soldiers to the French…resulting in the commander of the British forces going ape-shit and withdrawing all aid from said area for the rest of the war…)

I hope you all have enjoyed this historical fic, and if nothing else I hope you have learned a thing or two. :') One of the best parts of writing any kind of historical fiction is all the research the author gets to do, so I hope you guys feel even a portion of that enjoyment.

Sincerely,

_General Kitty Girl_


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